


this is for long forgotten, light at the end of the world

by Uncontinuous (nights_fang)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Allusions to previous dysfunctional relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nights_fang/pseuds/Uncontinuous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam and Michael are out of the Cage, are still in love, but somehow even after everything they never get it right. Until, years later, Michael walks back into Adam's life, and they finally do get it right in the end.</p><p>Set in a far nebulous Future when they both get out of the Cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is for long forgotten, light at the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [castiels_vein](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=castiels_vein).



> This is from an unfinished Nano for 2011, but I realised it could be read as a standalone, hence the posting. Dedicating to Tiff, because she's the main reason I churned out so much Michael/Adam that month. And Gabby because it should tide her over until I get time to write her Michael/Adam porn.

The world is white outside, the snow going on for miles and miles, until the horizon, whenever Adam looks out of the window. The clouds obscure whatever little waning dull sunlight there's left in the day. Sometimes it catches on the window pane of one of the houses in the distance. Winter is on it's way and by the looks of the oncoming storm, it plans on coming early and with a bang. A rather frustrating bang. Adam's just glad he's stocked up enough should a snow storm happen. Something he's learned from experience. He has enough of bare essentials to weather it out for a month, should he need too. Though, he hopes he doesn't have to do that. Mostly because if the storm does get bad, then he'll be delayed in helping or flat out won't be able to help others in the town should they need his services. And Adam hates having patients get worse and being unable to help.

But that is if it gets bad. There's no need for him to think of worse case scenarios already. Dwelling on them holds little for him. The storm has still to come; and even if it does, the possibilities of it passing quickly are much more than staying. If it does come down to the worst case scenarios, he could always just brave the storm to set up camp at his dispensary. He's done it before. He can easily do it again.

He should probably use the reprieve he's gotten thanks to it, to rest. It's been a hectic last few days in the dispensary. Adam's overworked, his shoulders ache, he's too high strung thanks to all the caffeine he's ingested, and just all out tired to even diagnose the rest. Right now what he needs the most is a nice hot shower. Maybe after that he can curl up on the couch in front of the fire in a blanket pile with hot cocoa and read something. How long has it been since he's actually done that? A month or more at the least? The townsfolk are right, he should start taking time off for himself.

He's towelling his hair dry and still debating which book he wants to read from his small collection, when he hears creaking upstairs. Sighing, and wondering if he thought about his break all too soon, and hoping the roof doesn't need fixing _now_ of all times. That would just suck so much for him. He turns around to head to the stairs, already mentally cursing up a storm. What greets him isn't a sight he's prepared to see.

Michael's grey-blue eyes are wide with shock, obscured slightly by his black curls, peppered with _white hair_. When did Michael's hair start going white? His cheeks are pink from the cold, his mouth formed into a small “oh”, an unfamiliar expression on his rough features. There's snow in his hair, slush on his boots, and his coat is dripping onto the carpet. The whole sight is so odd for someone like Michael, that for a moment Adam wonders if he's imagining it.

“Adam.” It's the greeting alone, voice soft and neutral, with the barest nod of his head that confirms it. Even Adam who knows the intricacies of Michael's every action, could not replicate it and it's complexities in his imagination. Not that he hasn't tried. He's done it plenty of times, and failed spectacularly every damn time. Michael has too many layers.

Adam finds himself smiling curtly in acknowledgement: tight, controlled, barest nod of his own head, a far cry from the sudden emotional and mental turmoil that the archangel has brought up within him along with his arrival, before he turns away. This was not what he was expecting for this evening. Or looking forward too. No he was looking forward to maybe peace and calm. Michael coming here means he's not about to get _any_ of that.

Forget the hot cocoa, he's going to need something stronger. Maybe scotch or bourbon. Maybe he should just raid and empty out half his cabinet right now. It's going to be a long... whatever duration Michael's going to stay. And there's the added amount of time it'll take Adam to recover from it. Adam is going to need a lot of alcohol to deal with it.

***

 

While the familiar sounds of snow and ice crunching under his boots is a comfort, Adam still hasn't gotten used to the cold. Especially cold winter mornings in a place where it snows for more than half of the year. He breathes out a shaky breath, watching it fade off into the sky like smoke would, jiggling his knee. Despite the layers he's donned the chill is still finding it's way into his bones, and he pulls his coat around him tighter, as if the action alone would ward off the cold. Dawn is still a while away, the ice being bathed will dull grey light, which doesn't help his mood much. It's all to dreary and depressing. What had possessed him to come out here so early in the morning after a night of restless sleep, escaped him.

Oh right, now he remembers. The archangel currently sleeping on his couch back home. The same one who'd had entered his house and back into his life a few evenings ago; akin to the storm he'd been trying to seek shelter from. Adam's not sure why Michael came to Adam's door. The reasons could be numerous, and with Michael it's always hard to guess. But Adam couldn't exactly turn Michael away. Barring other reasons, the most important was, he's never been able to turn Michael away. He's never ever been able to refuse the archangel anything. Even though he probably should've. Especially considering how Michael seems to throw Adam onto an emotional roller coaster with his sheer presence.

And well it was technically still Michael's house. At least Adam thought it was, as Michael had kept bringing him here over the years. Maybe it was just an unoccupied place Michael had found and claimed. Or he'd simply wished it here with his handy reality warping archangel powers. It wouldn't be the first time Michael had done something like that. Whatever it was, the point being: the house was _Michael's_. Adam was the one crashing there, for years now. It had never really occurred to him, in all this time. When he'd taken off, he'd just found himself automatically making his way here, to this house, and well stepped in and made it his new home without thinking about it for a moment.

He should've thought of it back then, instead of impulsively claiming it and seeking shelter there. It was only inevitable that Michael would come here one day for whatever. The true surprise lay in the fact it took the archangel so long to stop by. Knowing Michael, he should've done so much earlier. The archangel had admitted to Adam he liked his house here a lot, and would come here whenever they argued back then. Back when Michael and him still had something.

Adam drew a shuddering breath, rubbing his palms together trying to generate some warmth into them. He'd been stupid enough to leave his gloves at home, again, and now his hands were freezing. Were Michael out with him now, he'd not be feeling cold. The archangel would've used the slightest cue to wrap around Adam and cocoon him with his wings. Then he'd probably have wrapped his arms around Adam for added warmth. Furthermore a comment would be made moments later about how the bed in the house would be much, much more _warmer_ than out here, tone completely faux innocent and entirely failing at subtlety. Usually Adam used to follow that up by a badly formed snowball in Michael's face.

He sighs as he tries to shake those thoughts away. Coming here had seemed like a good idea at the time. He'd thought the cold air would help him clear his head. Instead all he can remember is all the memories he has of this place with Michael, and it only serves to make matters worse for him. Those were good memories. He guesses it's maybe why he chose to escape here. This is the one place where any memory he has of Michael here is _good_. It's the one place untainted by the more royally fucked up so badly it creates it's own universe aspects of their relationship. Though he honestly wonders how much longer it'll stay untainted, now that Michael and him are sharing living space – however temporarily – again. After around seventeen or so years of not even seeing each other. (Adam thinks it's seventeen years, but fucking archangels and hell have warped his time sense.) He's not sure he can stand this place being tainted too. Not after he's finally made a life for himself here. Made a home for himself here. He's not physically young any more either to have to displace himself and find a new place to call home.

But there's a lot that was still left unsaid, and Adam is worried exactly how badly it would affect him it if comes out in the open. He'd taken so long to fix himself up.

The worst part is, he isn't sure if that's exactly what he wants. For all of this to come out. To spill everything, and have it laid bare between them, because even after all this time, a part of him is still holding onto Michael.

The sound of his stomach grumbling, makes Adam sigh again. He should go back. It's getting more darker outside instead of light, and the snow is beginning to come down harder. Not to mention he's come out much further than he'd originally planned too. Getting stuck out here wouldn't be fun. He'd get frostbite before he made it back. His hands already are beginning to feel like they're going to freeze off. This whole thing had been a waste of time. He's going back with more nostalgia and clouded thoughts than when he came out here.

And apparently maybe a bad back too. What the _hell_ was Michael doing creeping up behind him? Seriously, you _do not_ do something like that, Adam thinks one hand flying to his chest, as he breathes deeply trying to calm his now racing heart, and looks up Michael from the slush and ice. He had not been expecting the archangel, at all. And honestly why the fuck was Michael creeping up on him? He knew better than to do that.

Michael smiles apologetically, and almost hesitantly extends his hand out to Adam. Adam glares at him before accepting it, and using Michael's hulk like strength as leverage to haul himself back up. A reprimand is already half way out of Adam's lips before Michael interrupts softly gaze trained on the ground at the side of Adam's feet; “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Michael withdraws his bare hand from Adam's own – he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding onto it – and shoves it into his coat pocket. Adam notes how warm it was; almost fever hot. The same kind of warmth Adam would love to sink into, in this weather. Idly the thought briefly crosses his mind as to how would Michael react if he did latch onto Michael. Maybe haul Michael close to him, like he used to in his more mischievous moments back home, in what seems like a lifetime ago, and kissing those chapped pink lips. Would the angel respond by wrapping his arms around him, deepening the kiss, or would he push Adam away? But that thought is fleeting enough, and Adam doesn't pay it much attention.

“Why are you even out here?” he asks. Michael gives no reaction, just keeps his gaze trained on the ground. Adam wonders exactly what's so interesting about the disturbed snow at his feet. He actually considers asking Michael about it sarcastically.

Michael however chooses that exact moment to reply. “You forgot your gloves and glasses back in the house.” The words are murmured out, still soft, and Michael holds out his hand to Adam again. This time they're holding a pair of aforementioned glasses and gloves. His eyes are sincere, and Adam just realised how the snow in his hair, makes the grey in it stand out more.

“Uh... thanks,” because honestly, what else could Adam say to that? Really any reprimand or comment his mind is coming up with makes him sound like a Grade A douche bag. Accepting the gloves, he dons them on relishing how warm they are. Michael's body heat must've warmed them up. The glasses though, those he pockets. No use of them out here.

“I thought I'd hand them to you on my way out.” Michael adds finally.

“Way out?” Adam echoes, before it hits him. Michael's gaze finally meets his own, and when it does it's hooded, and carefully neutral. Adam should've expected this. He should be glad, that Michael is simply making it easier for both of them. They can both go back to what they were before this chance meeting.

However, Adam can't feel happy about it. Whatever their problems are, Michael is leaving his own house because of Adam. That's not something that'll ever sit well with him. Not with the snow getting worse. Even if technically Michael is an archangel and the snow would have no effect on him, since he could poof away if he wanted too, Adam knows exactly what biting cold reminds Michael off. Or rather _who_ it reminds Michael off. Adam doesn't want that on him. He's not that cruel.

“Stay for a bit.”

The look Michael gives him, at those words makes Adam feel like laughing. Adam will never get used to seeing Michael shocked. It's something he realises that he'll always find amusing.

“Look, the snow's just gonna get worse. It makes no sense to send you off in this weather. Come on, let's head back.”

Michael looks like he's about to say something, but Adam knows just exactly how good Michael is with his words. So before the other can even utter another word, he begins the trek back to the house. When he turns to look behind him, Michael is following, that sulky frown of his tucked into the corner of his mouth, looking like a puppy. This time Adam does chuckle softly into his glove, unable to help himself.

 

***

 

The fire in the tiny hearth of the study keeps crackling merrily. Almost engrossed in it's own dance; hypnotic to watch: a blur of yellow, gold, orange, and red, licking the air while it bathes the room in it's glow. Most importantly though, it doesn't seem to care that Michael seems to be trying to have a glaring match at it. If one wanted to be spiteful and poetic, one would say that it's probably laughing at Michael. Right now Michael looks nothing like the influential archangel that he is and more like a middle aged man. Clad in the jeans and shirt he borrowed from Adam, with bed hair, a half pout half frown tucked into a corner of his mouth – a facial expression Adam has found to be unique to this vessel of Michael – that looks more funny with his features. Even if the glare directed at it, is the one that seems to turn normally strong men, gods, and _angels_ , to blithering yes men hoping to not turn into ash at his gaze. Adam himself had had that glare directed at him many a time in the past, in a lifetime long ago but not completely forgotten, and he remembers the effect it used to have on him. How it would make his heart skip in fear, adrenaline rush through his veins and activate his fight or flight instincts. How it would make his knees weak. How it would make him feel like he was nothing but an _insect_ who'd dare to even rouse Michael's ire.

Now though, now Michael can't even meet Adam's gaze. He seems to be completely focused on attempting to glare the fire into submission while he downs his umpteenth glass of high priced scotch he mojoed, as evening sets in. And in doing that, resolutely avoiding looking at Adam. Well at least when he thinks Adam isn't looking. Adam's caught him sneaking tiny peeks at him every now and then. Something he's been doing for a couple of hours, ever since they untangled themselves from the bed, they'd tumbled into during the afternoon while drunk. It's as if, the sight of Adam lounging around comfortably, half clothed and his clothes crumpled, still looking like he just got out of bed, hair mused, chest bare and covered with old scars and new love bites, is _shameful_.

It's not. At least Adam doesn't feel ashamed about it.

Once upon a time Michael wouldn't have cared. He wouldn't have even given in to human lust. He'd have found the fact that he'd done something like this in his future as an absurd impossibility.

Once upon a time the only nakedness Michael would've liked to see on Adam was Adam stripped down to sinew trying to hold his own organs inside his body, while Adam begged and pleaded for Michael to stop in the Cage, and then much later Michael was the one _begging_ a naked broken insane Adam for mercy. Once upon a time Adam's nakedness while he curled in on himself broken battered and fading, had spun Michael into despair in that very same Cage while he cursed his Father.

Once upon a time, Michael had been the one to gently cover Adam's nakedness while he – no _they_ – wept in the ruins of Adam's abandoned house while whispering assurances and apologies. And then, once upon a time, Michael had shyly averted his eyes from Adam whenever he was in this state much to Adam's amusement.

Once upon a time, this state of undress would've probably got Adam back on the bed, a handsy archangel on top of him, discarding Adam's clothes as quickly as he could, because he wanted to move on to much more pleasurable activities. And Adam would aid him in between breathless laughter and kisses.

Once upon a time, a horrific time, when they both realised much too late that while they had left the Cage, it had never truly _left_ them. When it caught up, when what it had changed in them became apparent, they'd rehashed those times again in a different way. He'd become a possession then, a plaything. Adam has tried to forget about that time, still tries to forget about that time, spends days acutely aware of the brand on his back.

Once upon a time he'd never known what it was to be this way in front of Michael, because it had simply never _been_ , because Michael's guilt was strong enough to try and erase his existence from Adam's life.

They had far too many once upon a times, just the two of them. And perhaps even more than the ones he remembers. Enough of them to weave so many tales that the Grimm brothers would have had a field day with it. It could become a whole anthology just by itself. Adam is constantly surprised, just how big a part of his life is filled with Michael. Every time he thought the chapter dealing with the archangel in the series of his life had closed, had ended abruptly; Michael would start up a new _book_ altogether. And yet up until now, despite all of that, all those numerous starts; they _still_ didn't have a happy ending.

It's kind of funny, Adam thinks. Not funny in the way that you can split your sides laughing and roll off the couch, and possibly hit your head and still keep laughing. Nor is it that quiet chuckle of amusement kind of funny. It's not the thing where you're trying to keep a straight face at the professor who's unintentionally uttered out some innuendo in front of the whole class. It's the sort of ironic hilarity that comes in a situation when the tables have finally been turned. It's that sick sense victory over a tormentor. It's that feeling of accomplished vengeance settling to sleep sated, in your gut. It's _that_ kind of funny. At least that's what it _should_ be in this situation.

Except there's no sense of satisfaction or victory on Adam's part at all. The hilarity of the situation comes from the fact that Adam feels _none_ of all those vicious feelings he thought he'd feel, and probably what Michael was expecting him to feel. Neither does he feel sorry about himself. What he does feel instead is frustration and annoyance. Not at what happened, but at the fact that Michael refuses to look at him. What he finds funny is that after every fucking thing, he can actually look at this in an objective detached light in some part of his brain, and laugh at how pathetic Michael's acting and how much it irritates him.

They had sex, and it was _good_. Great even. Even though the hangover makes it difficult to remember, he can vaguely recall the feeling of Michael's fingers and mouth on his skin, hesitant and hasty and the same time, even in the angel's alcohol induced state. He recalls enjoying it. He recalls drunkenly demanding for more into Michael's mouth, as he dug his fingers into Michael's back holding on.

And Adam thinks that maybe he should feel victorious that he can think this way again. That he can tumble into bed with _Michael_ of all people – no people would not be the correct term since Michael's not human – _entities_ , and wake up without finding the very air he's breathing oppressive and suffocating him with shame, disgust, regret, and dwindling self worth. That he can wake up, and even if he does remember their past, and not have it weigh him down, tear at him, sink it's nasty claws in his heart. That he can still feel like the Adam he was now, the Adam he worked so hard to become on his own. He's honestly surprised with himself that he woke up with Michael on top of him, with that familiar pleasant ache in his muscles, sweaty and sticky, with the room smelling like sex, and felt light. He felt _happy_.

He felt like he used too when things were still good between them. When they used to wake up in the same bed frequently in the same way, with the sun on their faces, and smile at each other, remembering a night and early morning well spent. And sometimes one of them would demand an encore, hands already running over the other's body, while the other would happily comply. Or Michael would insist on them having breakfast in bed, mostly because he wanted an excuse to taste whatever exotic coffee he'd summoned, from Adam's mouth. Or they'd simply lay in, pressed against each other, too lazy to move, until the sun was high in the sky and Adam couldn't put off his stomach's demand for food any longer. They have a lot of good memories. A lot of them in this house alone, on that bed.

He'd felt so good, that he'd been the one to reach out for Michael, even though Michael was too busy averting his eyes and hastily throwing his clothes on. All Michael had wanted to do was get out of the room, and pretend whatever happened _didn't_. While Adam wanted _more_.

God, he still wants more. He forget how good Michael was in bed, forgot what it was like to have Michael. Today's brought back all those memories back full swing. The taste of Michael's kisses, the way his fingers felt, his all encompassing heat, that incredibly good friction, and just how easily it was to get lost in all those sensations. How easy it was to turn into a bundle of nerves under Michael. The archangel is still good in the sack, if Adam's few drunken recollections of hours ago are any indication. He feels like laughing again at how blasphemous that sounds in his head, and how he doesn't care. Facts were facts were facts. No changing those.

And it's not just the sex. Yes, it helped put certain things in perspective, there's no denying that. However, if Adam were honest with himself, what he truly missed more was the intimacy. Sex he can get anywhere, if he really wants it. But it's never been completely only sex when it comes to Michael and him. Barring of course that one period of Adam's life he likes to pretend never happened. Even then, there were far too many emotions and a twisted sense of closeness associated with it. Adam's missed all of that so much more than the sex. It's stupid and corny, and sounds like something straight out of a teenager's romance novel, but it's true.

And if he was going to go thinking about honesty and facts the predominant one is: He wants Michael. He's never stopped wanting Michael. He's pretty sure he'll never stop wanting Michael. Even after all the shit that's happened.

It's odd how much has changed, and how much hasn't. How much of a full circle they've come from where they were. And at the end of it, Adam still wants Michael. He wants to attempt to build something with the archangel again. The only difference is this time, he knows what can happen, knows all those possible dead ends and bad roads. Adam's going to make sure they take a different path, because he's sure neither of them want to repeat the same stupid cycle of mistakes that got them here.

It means he's finally ready to forgive Michael, even if Michael still hasn't forgiven himself. Honestly this time, from everything Adam is. Not that impulsive forgiveness fuelled and blinded by his love, and childish hope, and need, and habit, that only and emotional wreck of a boy could be capable off. That was what had made them both reckless, and drove them further apart like this. Drove them to become what they were now.

Adam's realised in these years, and once again in these past few days once the sheer mess of emotions he'd become with Michael's arrival had finally settled, that he couldn't hold Michael completely responsible for what happened between them. Sure, some things were _purely_ Michael's fault, and those do make up the bulk of their problem, but he isn't responsible for _everything_. There were other things, things they were both responsible for, and things that were completely on Adam – as much as he hated to admit it. He still hates admitting it sometimes, but he reasons it out with the fact that no one would want to take the blame for all the shit that had happened. Especially what happened between them. After all they weren't the most normal set of people with the most normal circumstances in existence.

He's not a boy any more. Though, in someone like Michael's eyes – who's existed before the world did, Adam guesses he'll always be a boy even if he's a withered old man of ninety, with white hair and more creases on his skin than the crumpled shirt he was currently wearing. Yet, it doesn't change the fact that he's no longer that wide eyed innocent boy he was when Michael first met him. He's forty three. You can't be wide eyed and innocent at forty three. Not with the additional years he's existed for, thanks to Michael. He gained around two centuries in the Cage alone. Time has changed him, and age has been kind to Adam in many ways. It means he's grown up now. He had too with how long he's lived. He's older now, wiser, tempered and sobered down and maybe still a bit of an idealist; but he knows exactly what he wants.

He wants Michael, and he wants his happy ending. He's not getting any younger by the day. And if there's anything else time and age has taught him, it's that sometimes, he needs to give a fuck about the world and just _take_ what he wants. What he _deserves_. And Adam knows, he _deserves_ his happy ending.

They _both_ deserve it.

“Michael,” he starts, but the archangel just keeps staring into the fire.

He tries to get Michael's attention for a while. Michael however just keeps refusing to acknowledge Adam. And now this is really starting to get on Adam's nerves. Everyone has a limit to their patience, and Adam's is close to running out.

“ _Michael_.” He tries again, this time pushing off from where he was leaning and coming straight into Michael's line of sight. Michael now either has the choice of looking up at him, or closing his eyes, or staring resolutely at Adam's hipbones. Whichever choice he takes, Adam still has his attention. There's no way he can avoid it. “We need to talk.”

Michael, still ever the master of avoiding things and getting lost into nothing whenever it's convenient, simply grunts taking another sip of his scotch. Whatever memory the archangel is currently lost in, it holds most of his attention. Adam huffs annoyed as he tries again to get Michael's attention. Finally with an irritated sigh at how ridiculous this is getting, he simply pulls the glass out of Michael's hand and _straddles_ the archangel.

The reaction is immediate. Michael tenses, going almost rigid. His hands fly to Adam's hips gripping tight and pushing away, while his gaze flies to Adam's own, wide eyed and panicked. Suddenly Adam knows exactly where Michael's been, and with a wince he realises maybe this measure was a bad idea. He considers getting off, and apologising for bringing those bad memories they both like to push away into stark clarity. Still though, it's just better to ignore it and push on.

“Hey, I'm still here. This is a hundred percent Adam. Snark, sass, and all.” Adam murmurs softly, comfortingly, as he presses their foreheads together.

Michael relaxes slightly, but still searches Adam's eyes for something. When he finally finds what he was looking for, he sags completely against Adam in relief. And Adam hides the smile blossoming on his lips, when Michael lets his hands stay on Adam's hips. When his thumbs automatically start stroking the bare skin there. It's familiar, intimate, missed, and so very _them_. “Don't do--”

Adam cuts him off before he can speak further, leaning in so that his lips nearly brush Michael's own as he speaks. Sure he doesn't have to do it this way, but he wants too. Wants to lay himself bare and open for Michael like he used too. He wants to get the point across in a way that books no room for misinterpretation: unintentional or deliberate. “I want you to stay.”

Michael looks like he's about to protest, but Adam is having none of it. He's made up his mind. It's clear that they both want this. If Michael didn't, he'd have left back then in the snow instead of following Adam back to the house. He'd have left after they woke up naked next to each other. Michael clearly doesn't want to leave. It's obvious that some part of him is looking to stay here. And Adam is done with the both of them tormenting themselves like this. Yes the separation was good for him, it helped him figure out a lot of things; but Adam's missed Michael, and he doesn't want to continue living the rest of his life missing Michael. In the end _this_ is what he wants the most.

“Whatever excuse you're going to come up with, can it. I know you want to stay. _I_ want you to stay. So just _stay_.” Adam doesn't honestly understand what's so hard about it and why Michael has to even begin to try and complicate matters.

Michael sounds old when he sighs. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and it's withered him down to a point where he can't even begin to talk about pushing it off. His thumbs keep rubbing circles into Adam's hips. “I don't want to hurt you again,” he murmurs. “I've already broken you enough. I don't know what I'd do if I....” Michael trails off and lets the words hang ominously in the air around them.

God, Adam hates how much Michael sounds like a kicked puppy. Moreover, he hates the condescending tone implying that Adam will obviously break again. That's he's _weak_ enough to let it happen. Adam's damaged. Yes, he knows that. It's why he left, because he needed space, but mostly to fix himself. But, if Adam's damaged, so is Michael. More than Adam is, could ever be. And they're the type of couple who make each other whole by fitting their jagged edges together.

“I can fix myself up again. I did it the last time right? And hey, maybe this time if it happens, you can help.”

“I seem to have a problem doing that. Every solution seems to make matters worse.”

“Sending me to alternate universe where we never met, and trying to erase my memories isn't fixing me. Especially when you couldn't take away my tendency to Hulk out. That's being a coward, taking the easy way out and running away.” Michael looks like he's been slapped but Adam doesn't care. He's had enough of Michael's excuses, and Michael being a coward. “Michael, I mean it this time. I'm not some lost kid hanging onto something because it's familiar. I know exactly what the fuck we're getting into. Stay.”

Michael sighs again, defeat in his eyes, and hangs his head, resting it against Adam's shoulder. His hands wrap around Adam's hips, and Adam smiles counting it as a win. Something that only gets confirmed when Michael softly mumbles, “I'll stay.”

Maybe now, they can finally, _finally_ , move forward again.

“Good,” Adam mumbles against Michael's lips, shrugging out of his shirt, as he kisses Michael.

“Adam what...”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Sex, Michael. Considering we just got the heavy lifting out of the way, I think I've earned it. So yes Sex. You. Me. Us. _Now._ ” Adam punctuates it with a grind down into Michael's hips.

Michael's breath hitches, and his hands grip Adam's hips tightly. “Adam are you sure?”

“Damn sure. I want you to fuck me. Possibly like we did that night when we went round for round for round. You remember what I'm talking about right? Right of course you do.” He breathes out, grinding down again, to get a better angle, better friction. “Now are you going to undress or do I have to do the honours?”

“Here?”

“Yeah, here. Seriously Michael. Get naked already.”

***

 

Morning comes, weak sunlight waking him up. Adam shifts slightly wincing at the pain in his back when he does. Sometimes he forgets that his body is now forty three, that it's actually aged. It's easy to lose track of time when you've lived for longer years. And even though Adam does everything he can to stay fit, it's starting to show. Sleeping on the sofa doesn't seem like a good idea now, on the other side of the morning, than it did last night, when he'd pressed himself and made himself comfortable against Michael, when he'd pulled Michael in, demanding sex right there and then. Especially after marathon sex, and hell his ass hurts. Sitting might be a problem today. But he hadn't curled up with Michael like that for years, hadn't had Michael while sober for so long, and honestly the temptation was far too enticing to resist it. The pain is definitely worth it, Adam thinks with a smile.

When he opens his eyes though, the smile vanishes. Michael is not next to him, or sitting on the armchair across the sofa like he used too whenever he woke up before Adam. Adam strains to catch any sounds coming from the kitchen or any other room of the house; but the only sound he can hear is the soft whoosh of snow outside. It's only then that his gaze finds the piece of paper edged under the glass Michael was using the previous night. It's still has some scotch in it too.

It's a note, written in pencil, on torn off newspaper of all things. And in Michael's scrawl, it simply reads “ _Sorry._ ”

Adam crumples it up, before tossing it into the embers of last night's fire. It figures that, just when Adam thought that things were finally starting to get better, Michael would take off just like this. No explanation, nothing. Without even a goodbye to his face. It's just like the archangel to behave in this manner. Adam's not even sure why he'd got his hopes up. Maybe he is that pathetic after all, for still wanting Michael.

He picks up his discarded pants off the rug, sets about folding the blanket Michael had summoned for the both of them, and then he bitterly picks up the glass and swallows down the remaining scotch. It tastes as bitter as he feels, and there's not even the slightest hint of solace to be found in it.

So much for dreaming of another happy ending.

***

 

Breakfast, surprisingly enough once he gets some more sleep, isn't the miserable affair he'd expected it to be. Adam doesn't end up constantly having to remind himself that he's a grown up and shouldn't be sulking like a teenager over Michael. He asked Michael to stay and Michael agreed and they fucked, and then Michael upped and _left_. Sulking wouldn't bring him back, if he didn't want to stay. And Adam amazes himself at finally having internalised it enough to actually believe it.

He makes himself coffee, and eggs. He cleans the house. He gets his laundry done. He gets everything he'd need to cook both lunch and dinner, prepared. He cooks lunch, eats lunch. And he gets not one distress call about a patient. He even finally ends up picking up a book, and sitting down to read on some extra soft cushions, and get some of that relaxing he'd planned on doing before Michael showed up a few days ago. All in all, it's turning out to be a well spent day off.

And so Adam goes on with his life. The world keeps turning, and the snow keeps piling up outside the house, melting into ice every morning, and making it difficult for Adam to go to his dispensary. Michael's brief re-entry and hasty exit, becomes a few pages, that even if ripped off would not take away or change anything from the way it is now. And as much as Adam would've liked it if Michael had stayed, maybe it is better this way.

***

 

Raphael stops by once, unexpected, always unexpected – and really why don't the angels just leave his life all together? – still as graceful as she looked when Adam saw her the third time. The first time she was wearing a male vessel, and the second being the day when Michael brought her wounded into their house muttering Castiel, before they got her cleaned up and healed. She'd uttered a lot of curses back then, glaring at him as if she'd smite him where he stood for touching her. Even though he'd been trying to _help_. She still looks like she wants to smite him too, mouth a harsh line, eyes boring into him; and Adam closes his eyes, tenses, and readies himself for lightning to come out of the sky and strike him right where he sits, like it would in the cartoons.

After a few long moments, when he feels none of that happen, and it's long enough for him to realise that _no_ , he's still alive and _not_ imagining it, he finally opens his eyes. Raphael is regarding him like how a sane person would regard overly peppy teens fawning over whatever they fawn over that attracts weird looks.

He's not sure if that train of thought even makes sense, it probably doesn't. but he's pretty sure he's allowed to think stupidly when Raphael's nearby, since well it's _Raphael_. She terrifies him more than Michael and Lucifer do. And he's spent nearly two centuries with those two in the Cage. Not to mention that time when... yeah _so_ not going there.

But yeah Michael and Lucifer are all big powerful archangels, but Raphael is second to _God_ in healing _and_ and archangel. Adam's learnt early on in life that you do not mess with people in the medical profession thanks to his mom, and then had it reaffirmed while studying to become a doctor, himself. They know exactly how your body works, spend _years_ studying it. It's safe to say that they by that alone, also know exactly how to fuck you over in ways you wouldn't know.

There's also the fact that Michael has pretty much compared how Adam was in the Cage being way similar to Raphael, and from what Adam remembers about how he got, well... he has a good reason for being terrified as fuck when it comes to this archangel.

Hence, it means Adam by default goes into survival mode, and unless complex thought processes are related to you living, you pretty much think worse than a ten year old. So really he's allowed to think stupid, and no Raphael shouldn't glare at him for doing so, which she probably is.

It's even more funny since he does think of this smite happy archangel as a good friend. His best friend even. (Yeah he needs therapy, but there are no therapists who'll be able to deal with how fucked up his life truly was.)

Seriously, he forgot how peaceful his life had gotten without the angels in it.

“Hi?” He tries when Raphael still glares and hasn't said a word yet, because he might as well do it. And really this is normally the part where otherwise Raphael would nod curtly and leave; or stop glaring and sit down, and demand tea, and then point out that how Adam should've got it already because the general human thing to do is offer a house guest something. (Raphael's a stickler for those kind of things. Angels do what they should be doing. Humans do what they should be doing – which honestly according to Raphael is probably listening to angels, getting smote by them for doing anything that annoys her like breathing, and dying so that she can get to the Rapture part already. Adam's still wondering how they're friends, even in the loosest sense of the word.)

At least that's what Raphael used to do. Honestly this is the first time he's seen her in months too. Once he and Michael went their separate ways it's safe to say he hasn't seen much of her either. She's busy with other affairs.

Her glare makes it look like she's expecting something, and for a brief moment Adam feels like throwing caution to the wind and just asking her ' _What?_ ' and being done with it. A thought which is quickly discarded because slow death by horrible pain. Do no want. _Ever_.

Then it strikes him as to why she might be here. “Michael's not here. Took off. I don't know where he's gone off too.” And he's not sure why he's surprised by the lack of anything bitter, angry, or wistful in that. He's accepted it.

Raphael's giving him _that_ look. The one that says 'You are a worthless speck of dust, and I cannot fathom why my brother chooses to be so enamoured with you lowly creature, or why he hasn't killed you yet. And I have yet to understand why I even bother with you, as well.' And Adam will _not_ think how similar it looks to the one his mother used to give him when he'd done something incredibly stupid, and she was wondering why he wasn't making amends for it _yesterday_.

(He will also conveniently ignore the fact that other than the archangel in question, he's the sole speaker of the language 'Raphael'. There are just places you do not want your mind to go. For it's own good.)

“Hey, I asked him to _stay_.” And maybe it's because of that look, that Adam is actually elaborating, trying to defend himself to Raphael. “He's the one who ran off like a coward.”

Raphael's glare only gets sharper – and how is that even _possible_? – and Adam winces. Yeah, calling Michael of all angels a coward in front of Raphael is definitely not the hottest of ideas, he's had. But facts, are facts, are facts. Michael _is_ a coward.

“If my brother,” she starts voice far too neutral and calm to be naturally possible, and Adam thinks that this is the point where he should get out the angel banishing sigils, because he's not sure if all the wards Michael put up in this place will work at curbing Raphael. Michael sure, but again Raphael is in a whole different league, altogether. “Wasn't so needlessly endeared by you, I would have turned you to ash right now.” And with that she's gone, _thankfully_.

At least now Adam can breathe normally again, without having to worry about dying horrifically. And maybe he should celebrate too. Every time he meets Raphael and comes out alive is worth celebrating.

Of course the celebration turns into cursing her out, once he finds his collection of Stephen King, and his scotch missing. She stole it. She actually _stole_ it.

No really, why does he know the archangels?

***

  

It's safe to say, he's not expecting Michael to pop up again. Even after the whole strange visit from Raphael. He's made his peace with it – rather quickly; so much so that he surprised himself about it; but then again he has lived without Michael here for seventeen years now, maybe he's just used to it. But apparently, because Michael, and the universe at large still insist on throwing Adam curve balls, Michael pops into his life again and his kitchen. Right as Adam is busy taking the hot soup off the stove while trying to control a sneeze. He's been coming down with a cold off late, and probably caught it from one of the kids he checked.

Seeing the archangel so suddenly nearly makes Adam jump, and he ends up spilling the soup everywhere. Just thankfully, not on himself. He doesn't like the idea of second degree burns coupled with his sniffling.

He's also wondering if maybe it's possible that his heart could maybe get used to this. It better if Michael insists on giving him near heart attacks like that. Honestly he's not built for shit like this any more. His youth has been hectic enough that sometimes his heart feels like it's fifty instead of what his physical age is.

“Don't,” he pants while trying to get his breath back, and his racing heart to calm down, “do that.” Really does Michael _want_ to kill him? Raphael, Adam can understand. She hates him. They have this thing going on. But _Michael_?

The archangel has lived with him before. He knows never to suddenly do something like this when Adam is near the gas, or handling hot liquids, or has knives in his hand. Especially when Adam has a knife in hand. Basically he doesn't like being startled while doing something in the kitchen. Hasn't the archangel learned through experience, to know not to do this?

Michael, being the ever infuriating asshole that he is, smirks at that. He fucking _smirks_. And for that alone, Adam takes back every wish he had for Michael and him to work things out this time. The archangel can _rot_ for all he cares.

Okay so maybe not every wish. Maybe like four fifths of it.

Still.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Adam glares at him, the effect somewhat ruined by his need to sneeze. Not only does he have a cold, and a near heart attack, but now he doesn't have _any_ soup. And he's going to have to clean that up in this state. And now Michael is here, probably back to bring Adam some more emotional turmoil. Joy. Adam isn't in the mood for that. Colds make him extra bitchy as it is.

Really, it's like Michael was created only to antagonise him.

Michael quickly sobers up at that, eyes downcast. And it is so not fair that he looks like a kicked puppy. How can you even look like a kicked puppy with greying hair? Seriously.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” He makes to reach out for Adam before pulling his hand back halfway and shoving it into his pocket, and shifting about on his legs awkwardly. Adam simply raises an eyebrow at that, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. He wants to know exactly why Michael has come back again.

And all right maybe it's also because he likes seeing Michael squirm. Which is what the archangel is doing right now. He is a little sadistic. So what? Normally he'd clamp down on that, but he has a cold, and Michael nearly gave him a heart attack and made him _spill his soup_. As far as Adam knows he's allowed to be a jackass right about now.

“I...” Michael starts again, and Adam leans against the stove waiting for what comes next. It doesn't. Michael seems to be taking his time, fidgeting about while he tries to find the words. That's exactly when a particularly nasty sneezing fit decides to assail Adam.

“You should be in bed.” Michael's at his side in an instant, hands light on Adam's hips, as he begins to try and guide Adam out of the kitchen, ignoring Adam's raised eyebrows. Now, the archangel seems like he's in more familiar territory, with this, compared to the nervous ball of energy he was just a second ago. How does he even _do_ that? And Adam is genuinely surprised how easily he finds himself listening, and letting Michael guide him out of the kitchen, despite the fact that barely a few seconds ago he was all ready to enjoy Michael's suffering.

“The soup.” Adam grumbles, turning around, but the floor is sparkling clean, and Michael pushes at his shoulders, until he's out on the kitchen and in the living room, and then into his bed room. And then until he's on the bed. And if that isn't enough, the heater's cranked up higher, pillows are being propped and fluffed so that he can lean against them, blankets are being wrapped around Adam that weren't there a moment ago, and there's soup on the night stand by his side.

To be honest, he's a little overwhelmed, by all of this. It's been a while since something like this happened; since he fell ill and Michael took care of him – he'd always hated the quick angel healing thing Michael did – and it's so achingly easy to sink back into. That scares him a little. A lot. Universe filling level of fear actually.

“I don't need to be mother-henned, you know. I'm not a kid, and I can take care of myself.” Adam feels himself pouting before he can control it. He's expecting Michael to tut, and start scolding him like he normally would; but Michael pulls away immediately looking as if Adam slapped him.

Which really he needs to stop doing, otherwise Adam might just _slap_ him. On principle.

“I... Of course you don't. I'm sorry. I didn't realise... no that sounds wrong. I...” Watching Michael fumble over words like this is painfully embarrassing. (Which is just plain weird because just a bit ago Adam found it amusing. Seriously fuck colds. Fuck cold meds.) He looks torn. As if he still wants to keep touching Adam, judging by the way his fingers keep twitching, and he doesn't at the same time.

Adam is too grumpy thanks to his stuffy nose to even bother, but this seems like it's only going to get worse. So, raking his fingers through his hair he sends Michael a sharp look. “Michael, what are you doing back here?”

Michael sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed. There's a certain rigidity and tension to his posture, as if he's waiting for war, rather than talking to Adam. And Adam just thinks about that for a second, as to how absurd it sounds in his head. Michael – _the archangel Michael_ – looking like he's preparing for war instead of trying to talk to his old, sick lover. “I came to apologise. I shouldn't have left the way I did. Not without saying something to you first.”

Oh. So _that's_ what this is about.

“Yeah well you did. Look, if you don't want to stay I won't stop you. I shouldn't have made you agree to stay in the first place.”

“It's not that Adam.”

“Then what is it Michael? Enlighten the poor foolish human, here.” Because really, he's tired of Michael's many excuses. The archangel just needs to decide if he's in or out. Not hover and dangle the proverbial carrot from a string in front of Adam, every time Adam gives up, and then fuck things up. It's torture.

“I... I still do not trust myself to not hurt you when I'm around you. Adam, I've hurt you. More than once. And there's a huge chance I'll do it again.” Michael smiles sadly at that.

“I thought I said it earlier. My problem here isn't the hurting thing. Though yeah that's a _huge_ problem, in itself. Seriously, best plan would be to stop doing those kinds of things. But getting back to it, it's the fact that you try and find a quick fix or run away after a problem instead of working to fix it, that's my problem. And I'm not some fragile doll that'll shatter completely. I can pick myself up after something shitty has happened.”

“I don't know how to fix it. And you're not understanding what I'm trying to say. This isn't some human thing. We were created to adore and serve. _I_ was created to adore and serve only One being, who had power to keep me in line. When I _chose_ you, I....” Michael trails off as if his voice is caught, like he's trying to find words, and Adam can't even look at him now. He hadn't expected Michael to bring this up. He knows the significance of Michael's choice. Whether God abandoned His kids or not, His kids, especially His most loyal son turning away from Him, wasn't done. Adam remembers Michael when he thought God had forsaken him. How he'd begged and gone insane in the cage. Now, for _him_ to choose to turn away, that should've been heartbreaking.

He's about to apologise, when Michael starts speaking again. “What I've done, what I could do in the future should I lose myself again, it'll affect your soul. I've put enough of a strain on that as it is, Adam. Souls aren't infallible. They can die or be destroyed too. If I mess up this time, and I _know_ I will... I still haven't completely healed from the Cage, there might not be a way to fix it. You might just disappear. No heaven, no hell, no afterlife. And I'd rather stay away from you forever, than lose you to oblivion. It's selfish of me, yes, but.... what else can I do?

“I know you, even if I were to give you control, like I've tried too before, you wouldn't take it. You believe in equality, and that's one of the things I love about you. But I've spent lifetimes and aeons existing until you, existing to _serve_ my Father and _control_ Heaven, being unchanging. I cast Lucifer away because I loved Father more than him. I bowed to humans when I didn't want too, out of love for Him. I don't want that existence any more, but I can't exactly throw it away. That's not easy. And you're _human_ Adam. A strong determined human with a soul that even at it's lowest, shines more brightly than Lucifer ever did, who's taken _His_ place, but still human. And by the time I can learn to truly be equal to you, it would be far too long or too late. Especially with all those added deterrents. I don't want to take that risk. I destroy everything I love, and I don't want to do that to you. Being away from you isn't easy, but an existence until everything truly ends, without you... that's worse. I'd rather stay away and know you're happy, that you're alive, _that your exist,_ than just not there thanks to what I did.” Michael's eyes are pained and far away. And fuck if Adam knows how to reply to that.

So naturally, he ends up asking Michael the first thing that comes to his head. Which of course is: “Why is your hair greying?” And then he promptly wants to kick himself for it. Michael has just poured his heart out here to him. Even if his brain to mouth filter has technically vanished because he's digesting whatever Michael said, while sick, it's still no excuse for asking him something like that. That's something he'd have expected his teenage self to do. With that Adam single handedly trivialised everything Michael just said.

Where's mom when you need her to smack you upside the head?

Michael looks taken aback, and then a small almost wistful smile makes it's way onto his face. “You once said we should grow old together. It would've been odd if this form remained unchanging while yours aged. And there wasn't any reason for me to keep time to a standstill for this form.”

Adam cannot help the utterly goofy smile that forms on his face at hearing that. Michael decided to age, because of something Adam had once said. It had been post sex afterglow pillow talk. Not that Adam hadn't meant it or looked forward to it, but at that time he'd barely mentioned it. For Michael to remember, to _act_ upon that, even though he didn't have too, didn't _need_ too. Sure letting time flow for the vessel he created for himself won't matter, because Michael will exist till the end of time; but to even have that illusion of ageing, for _Adam_. Adam can't push him away now, even if he wanted too. Not after that. Sure it seems like a trivial reason, but someone help him, for all that Michael actually said about not being able to be equals, he tries more than anything. And this just shows it.

“Stay.”

Michael stares at him. “Adam.... I.... You know.... No I can't.”

“Do you want to stay?

Michael's shoulder droop, and he looks distressed. Adam is briefly amazed at how he can still look rigid like that. That should not be possible. Even Raphael can't do that. And Raphael can do a bunch of things. “I want too. Father help me, I want too. There's nothing more I want than to be by your side again. All these years I've wanted that. But we both know why I shouldn't be.”

“You want to be here. Then stay here.”

“Adam, didn't you _listen_ to what I said?”

“Grow old with me, Michael. Who knows how much time I have left any way. It might be fifty more years, it might be five. Knowing me and my luck, it's probably the latter. I still want to spend them with you. I trust you. And this time I actually mean it.”

Michael drags his hand over his face, and sighs. “You aren't going to let this go, are you?” It's obvious he means to sound stern, but he can't quite hide that faint note of amusement in his voice.

Adam, for all his age, matureness, and illness, dons the most shit eating grin he can and says, “Nope.”

“You bring out the worst in me.”

“Okay hey, seriously why are we blaming me now?” Because really where did _that_ come from?

Michael huffs, finally relaxing, and he takes Adam's hand, running his thumb over Adam's knuckles. “I meant that as a compliment. I'd never known how flawed I was until I met you. Thank you. I do not understand why you still have so much faith in me, but thank you for it.”

Adam looks down at their hands, before entwining them together. It feels so good to do this again. Seventeen years has been too long. They'll probably not be able to go back to what they used to be, but that's all right. After all everything grows, and changes. It needs too. He looks back up at Michael. “No problem.”

What he means by that is 'I love you.' Michael smiling now, at that, and Adam knows he understood. Quiet joy is written all over his face and most evident in those pronounced crows feet at his eyes. Age is a good look on Michael. Almost like a physical manifestation of how far Michael has come.

Adam doesn't remember eating, or falling asleep, but he wakes up to the sun on his face, and able to breathe normally. Michael's not next to him in the bed, or in the room. And there's no sounds coming from any where in the house either; but there is a note on his night stand, neat and folded into perfect fours, wedged under a glass of water. The note reads:

> “ _I know you hate it but your cold only seemed to be getting worse. You wouldn't be able to go to the dispensary either. So I took a few liberties. You can yell at me for it later. Breakfast is in the kitchen. The toaster and microwave are still working in the pristine condition they were working at yesterday. Don't worry I didn't destroy anything. The kitchen is safe. Take care of yourself. I'll be back by evening. - Michael._ ”

 Adam smiles, rereading the note a few times, before getting out of bed to get ready for his day. It looks like it's going to be a good one.

***

 

Adam's dozing when Michael comes back. He announces his presence by materialising in front of where Adam is comfortably curled up on the sofa supposedly re-reading “ _Nineteen Eighty Four_ ” for the umpteenth time now. Michael takes one look at Adam, in between shaking the snow out of his hair, and raises an amused eyebrow.

“Frankly, the frequency at which you keep reading that book, alarms me.”

“Hello to you too. Yes, I forgive you for coming home later than you told me to expect you. Yes, you will be allowed to sleep on the bed, instead of being delegated to the couch as punishment. And yes I will still have sex with you tonight, because I am a nice person, and I love you. So shut it. You're not allowed to criticise what I read. It's my favourite book.”

“That doesn't make it any better.”

“Even Raphael likes it. Why do you give me grief about it?”

“The fact that Raphael likes it is even more disturbing. That alone should indicate why I worry.”

“Michael, shove it.”

“You can actually quote whole passages from a book, that's based on a society where everyone is under the watch of a few powerful members, and freedom is curbed, Adam. Your email _password_ is Ingsoc. I have a right to worry.” Michael deadpans. Michael's expression of mock worry is priceless, and he can't even keep it up for long himself. The corners of his lips quirk upwards constantly before he catches himself to school his expression again. Adam chucks one of the cushions at him while stifling his laughter.

Michael catches it, throwing it onto the couch, along with his coat, before coming over to where Adam is, and settling in next to Adam's legs. His expression has turned into something fond, as he regards Adam, his fingers lightly trailing over Adam's knee. Adam can feel the warmth of Michael's fingers bleed through his jeans. It's achingly familiar to how they were around each other when they hovered on the edge of starting something romantic all those years ago. When they both didn't know how exactly to do something about it. When Michael would look for reasons for invade Adam's personal space, and Adam would look for excuses to keep him there. Before they just fell into a relationship.

It's been like that for these past few months now, ever since Michael came back a second time and stayed. Adam hadn't really expected it to be like this. He'd thought they'd simply fall back into their old habits, pick up from where they left off. But not this. It's almost as if Michael is courting him again, right from the beginning. And he honestly likes it. It's nice. Peaceful. It's _them_.

“There's hot chocolate for you on the counter. You're gonna have to warm it, though. It's been sitting there for a while. I don't think it's hot any more.” Adam says it after a while, breaking their gaze, and sitting. But not before he catches Michael's happy grin. The archangel looks like a child who's been told Christmas is coming early. It's always amusing how much Michael enjoys the beverage. Adam could bribe him into doing so many things for just a cup of hot cocoa. He _has_ bribed Michael into doing stuff for him by offering hot cocoa before.

“You constantly do not have to remind me of the various reasons I love you, but it is greatly appreciated.” And Adam laughs as Michael leans in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I am glad I listened to Raphael's advice to come back here, and talk to you. I would've never had you make me stay otherwise.”

And wait. _Wait_. _**What?**_ Adam just stares at Michael. “Raphael, _Raphael_ , told you to come back?” Because wow. Seriously wow. _Raphael_ told Michael to come back. Holy shit. And yeah.

Wow.

“She did. Though, I doubt she'd be pleased, if she found out that I told you about it.” Michael smiles, a little crookedly as if he's letting Adam in on a secret, which he pretty much is. And no seriously, this is unbelievable and hard to process and kind of hilarious in it's own way.

“I should get her something. Should I get her something? What could I get her? Wards. Exotic items. Exact co-ordinates to Dean and Sam's locations – no wait that would just be me being mean to her. Maybe fine quality alcohol, like a nice bottle of Guinness. Yeah Guinness sounds good. She likes Guinness right?”

“She does like Guinness.”

“I'm rambling, aren't I?”

“Yes you are.” Michael chuckles, pressing another kiss to his lips before getting off the sofa in search of his hot chocolate.

“Marshmallows are in the third cupboard. And by the time you get your ass back here, you better have the locations for where I can get the best Guinness. Or you're sleeping on the couch. I mean it Michael!” Adam calls out after the archangel laughing. _Raphael_ was the one who forced Michael to come back here a second time. He takes back every bad thought about the archangel.

 

***

 

“Adam, if you had too...”

Adam looks up from the vegetables sizzling on the saucepan to where Michael is, wondering what caused the archangel to trail off like that. Said archangel leans against the refrigerator, staring out the doorway that leads into the living room, looking very lost. A look that has been present on his face all day. Adam hasn't seen Michael sport that look for a while now. Not since Michael finally decided that yes, Adam did want him back, and he wasn't going to take back that decision and throw him out. Adam seriously wonders exactly why Michael thinks he'll do that, but honestly he doesn't want to ask. Sometimes the way Michael thinks still scares him. Even though he's given up that life, he's still an archangel after all. He's spent his whole life being once. As Michael once said, it's not something you can let go of easily.

“If I had to?”

“If you were given the choice between having your mother back and me...” Oh so _that's_ what's been eating at Michael. Sometimes Adam forgets that while he has made his peace with a lot of things, Michael still hasn't forgiven himself, even as much as Adam wants him too.

Michael still doesn't look at him, when he finally asks; but there's so much guilt and insecurity radiating off him. Adam just wishes he would just forgive himself already, because he hates when Michael gets like this. He's even briefly contemplating taking a page out of Raphael's book and telling Michael how archangels should _not_ be like this. They're meant to be proud, strong beings.

But on the other hand he knows the Michael who came out of the Cage was much different than the Michael who fell in. And the Michael is front of him now, is even more different than that Michael. This one allows Adam to see him at his weak moments, and Adam knows how much Michael trusts him to show him this side.

Sighing, Adam turns back to the vegetables. He doesn't want them to burn. Michael has asked him this question before. Many times. Adam's never had a straight answer because his mother has always held more of Adam than Michael, despite all their years together. Just as Michael's duty and Father, Lucifer, Raphael, and his other siblings have held onto Michael.

“Both.” Adam replies. Adam's mother taught him a long time ago that you can't choose which part of your heart you love and yearn for the most. He's only realised exactly what that means in these few years, when he looked back over a lot of things in his childhood. Hindsight is always a blessing.

Michael looks at him, finally, confused. So Adam elaborates.

“I still miss her. Never going to stop missing her or wanting her around, even after all these years. But I'm not going to trade you for her. Unless of course the situation called for it, but that's because I know you're more than capable of turning the tables on whatever, than mom is. Though, I wouldn't put it past her to be sneaky. I mean she's _my_ mom, after all.”

Michael seeming to get the joke, has a small smile on his face. Adam has always, and still maintains that he's more his mother's son than John's. It seems that Michael has finally started sharing that opinion too.

“Both of us, then.” Michael sounds relieved, something which makes Adam smile.

“Yep. I kinda wish you two could've met. She'd have liked you.”

“Or tried to kill me.”

“Well yeah she would've. But then she'd have let you go, and fawned over you.”

“Like you do? I honestly doubt anyone can, at least as much as you do.”

Adam's about to reply with a 'no, she's much worst when it comes to the fawning thing,' but he makes the mistake of looking at Michael again. Michael who's looking at him with so much open adoration and wonder, and Adam mentally rescinds that comment. Mom's awesome and all, but he's not sure he likes the idea of anyone else fawning over Michael, or Michael giving other than him those looks. Even his own mom.

Yeah he has it bad.

So maybe Adam's possessive. He's always been possessive over the people he loves.

“Damn right. I doubt anyone could outdo Adam Milligan on loving the archangel Michael like crazy.” Which seems to be the magic words, because Michael's smile is just so _happy_. There's no other word that can describe it aptly.

“ _Olani hoath ol monons._ ” Michael murmurs voice rough and filled with emotion as he utters each of those ancient words, barely audible in the noise that fills the room. But Adam hears it, feels the rush of air ring in his ears, and in his bones, feels that something warm go down his spine and coil low in his belly at the words.

“Don't do that,” Adam says, just a little breathless. Enochian this ancient, isn't meant for human ears. It's not even meant for _other angels_. It's the language that was used to _create_ existence, only meant for God and his first four. They both know that. Adam is lucky enough to be used to it by now, after years in the Cage, but it still leaves him just a little bit overwhelmed. Michael simply smiles as he ignores that, comes up behind Adam wrapping his arms around Adam, and keeps murmuring those words into the skin of Adam's shoulder, like the oath Adam has learnt it is.

“Yeah,” Adam says leaning back against Michael, once he finds his voice, and breathing is a possibility again, “I love you too, you dolt. Now let me cook. You don't want burnt food for dinner right?”

The sound of Michael's laughter, stifled by his own skin, is the best sound Adam's heard all day.

Michael never asks him to choose between him and Kate after that.

 

***

 

The ring is an unexpected birthday gift. It's nice and all, nothing flashy, just a simple silver band with what looks like Enochian engraved into it, but it's really unexpected. Adam looks from it, to the nervous look in Michael's eyes – Michael who didn't even wait until he got home but came right into the dispensary as Adam was closing up, to give him this birthday gift – and back to the ring.

He's not sure how he feels right now. He thinks he's happy, quickly approaching that state of stupid kiddish joy kind of happy, even though he's supposed to be a calm rational adult, about what it means. But mostly he's just confused. He's already promised Michael forever. He's promised _Raphael_ that he'll keep Michael forever, which is as good a permanent commitment as anything else, because Raphael is fucking scary, and the fact that Adam had the balls to sincerely _mean_ that promise, and counter threaten Raphael over coming between them, should count as to how serious he is. (Even though to be fair, he was a little intoxicated at the time, but he really meant every word he said. Including the whole bit of violence and mutilation – and really why hasn't Raphael killed him for that yet? ) He doesn't really know exactly why Michael had to buy them rings. Besides while Michael is kind of big on a lot of human things now, Adam's pretty sure this wasn't one of them.

He decides for once maybe shutting on his brain to mouth filter is the best. “Why the rings? I mean I like them, but last I remember you weren't so big on something like this.”

Michael hums with nervous energy, and no it's still weird seeing him like that. Adam's never going to get used to it. Never. It doesn't help that he thinks of Raphael waiting in the dark ready to smite Adam for making Michael wear that look, whenever Michael has that face on. “I once asked you to be my bond mate.”

“And I said yes. Pretty sure you never mentioned rings. You said they were a human thing.”

Whatever Adam was thinking he'd get, he's not prepared for the self depreciating look that crosses Michael's face. It makes Michael look old, and just a little helpless, and that's just _wrong_ on so many levels. Really, as glad as he is that Michael lets Adam see this more insecure side of his; one of these days, Adam is going to do a Raphael, and Michael will have only himself to blame for that. “Yes they are, but... After what I did, with the... When I... With the mark....” He trails off searching for words, but Adam already knows what he means. He still has the brand on his back. The remnants of Michael's name in Ancient Enochian. It'll never fade. If it hadn't been put the way it had, when Michael was not completely Michael, Adam would've worn it proudly.

“Yeah you can skip mentioning that.”

“Yes well, I did bond with you back then. Not the way we normally do, because bonding was not meant for lovers. I've told you that before. And what I did was twisted and wrong and....”

And while Adam can understand Michael's need to painfully lay out every possible detail when it comes to angelic things, so that Adam understands fully, he doesn't really want to bring up those memories on his birthday. “Mind fast forwarding to the relevant non trauma revisiting parts?”

He probably shouldn't have said that because Michael looks stricken, and he pulls his gaze away from Adam onto the floor. Maybe Adam shouldn't have said that. Actually he definitely shouldn't have said that. Those memories are harsh on Michael too. More than they are on Adam. Adam's forgiven, and moved on; Michael still fights with them.

But thankfully, Michael gets right back to the point he was trying to make and marches on. Adam's glad, because he's not sure he could deal with Michael high tailing it again. “You rejected me. We can't bond with the same being again once we're rejected. And even if we could, even with your consent, attempting a bond now would strain your soul far too much.”

Adam's starting to wonder just what else would strain his soul too much. Just about everything sounds like it could these days, from what Michael says. Michael probably has a list of them. It's probably: Raphael, sneaking up on Adam, Raphael, angel bonding, Raphael, branding, Raphael, too much snow, too much coffee, too little protein, cholesterol, Raphael, spilling hot soup, Raphael, Winchesters, Michael existing. That last one is probably circled multiple times over too. Along with Raphael.

Okay so maybe he over did it on Raphael, but seriously, half his life scares once Michael and him started something came from her. Even if she is Adam's closest friend.

Though if she ever heard that, she'd smite him on principle. And then bring him back to life, so that she could smite him again.

Why are they even _friends,_ anyway?

Shaking those thoughts away he focuses back on the issue at hand. “So you bought me a ring instead.”

“Yes. To be honest, I think I prefer this much more. Any mark I asked you to wear, would be permanent. You'd chose to wear it once without being able to get rid of it later. Unless of course you do something difficult, dangerous, and crazy, which most normal people would avoid. Which knowing you, you most likely would.” Michael does an impressively good job of deflecting Adam's glare when he says that. “And this, you could chose to wear this everyday. You even have the option of getting rid of it, painlessly, without any hassle, if you should feel like it. I never realised just how much it reaffirms one's commitment.”

“Michael. You, are, a completely ridiculous _sap_. Do you purposely model your behaviour out of crappy romance novel leads, or something?” because really, that, _that_ , has got to be the most cheesiest thing he's heard. Adam is pretty sure if any angel could see the glorious Michael now, they'd be shaking their heads, sighing, and agreeing with Adam. Well maybe not Raphael. She'd probably just have another reason to kill Adam. Maybe she'd probably maim Michael too, on principle.

But all that aside, he takes the ring sliding it onto his finger, because yes it is a nice gesture. And yes, Adam likes the permanence it signifies. And yes, if Michael had shown the slightest inkling of liking the idea of rings, it would've been Adam who'd have bought them instead.

“You've mentioned that before, you brat.” Michael rolls his eyes fondly trained on the silver band Adam's now wearing. And really that look of pure utter joy blooming on his face despite Michael's many attempts to school his expression makes something warm unfurl inside Adam.

“Only the last time I distinctly recall you adding that you were equally sappy, and as long as I didn't tell anyone else, you didn't mind.”

But of course Michael being the dense idiot that he is, has to ruin whatever moment they were about to have. Typical. Really typical.

“Do you want me to take this off, less than a minute after I put it on, and aim it for your eye? Because seriously old man, I _will_ do it. And I will not feel even the slightest bit guilty about it.”

“That depends, do you want Raphael storming in here, or smiting you with lightning?”

“That's cheating. You're not allowed to include or take the help of your siblings-- Wait you told _Raphael_ you were getting me a ring? Seriously? _Seriously?_ Doesn't she have enough reasons to kill me that you're actively giving her more of them?”

“Don't worry, she doesn't want to kill you. She barely seem surprised when I mentioned it.”

“I'm still carrying angel banishing sigils with me for the next few days. I don't trust her.”

Michael shrugs, chuckling as he settles on the edge of the desk in front of Adam, while Adam goes back to locking up his desks and the various shelves. Michael coming here with the rings had made him forget about the fact that he was supposed to be closing up for the day.

“If you want I'll be your escort to the dispensary, so that I can offer you protection.” And really as sweet as that sounds, it'd sound better if Michael's voice wasn't dripping with amusement and barely disguised innuendo.

“You just want an excuse to grope me publicly, and say you're checking for curses.” He's not actually opposed to being groped by Michael in the slightest, but Adam has this thing about drawing a line for public displays of affection. Groping is the kind of thing that's just more acceptable in private, where no one else can watch. And Adam has a _lot_ of people who like to randomly visit him whenever they have free time, to catch up with him. He'd rather not scar them by having them walk in on the shark like middle aged man, doing things to their beloved Doctor Adam.

Well scar them any more than he probably already has. Michael has groped him in his office before. And gone farther than groping too. Adam's just glad that no kids have ever come in for a check up on those embarrassing occasions.

Adam pauses in the middle of double checking whether the last of his patient file cabinets is locked only to catch Michael's eyes trained firmly on his ass. He can't help roll his eyes at that.

Michael smirks when their gazes meet. He's still brimming with energy, only this isn't nervous, but a different kind of energy. Adam briefly wonders if he should pre-emptively put up a note or something, saying that he won't be coming to work tomorrow. If Michael has his way tonight – and oh _who_ is Adam kidding, of course Michael is going to have his way tonight. It's not like Adam will stop him. Hell, if Adam doesn't get any sex tonight, he'll probably be the one kicking Michael's ass out of bed. And maybe out of the house.

Which means that yeah, he'll be sore by tomorrow. Definitely putting up a notice.

“Come on fly boy. Let's head home, and celebrate.” He says as he dons his coat on. Michael's smile is so wide, and happy, and Adam can't help but just pleasantly ache with that. It's nice seeing Michael this way. It's nice just simply seeing Michael, and having this again.

It's only when they're outside that Adam remembers that in his haste, he forgot his gloves. Yet _again_. And hell, he really needs to stop being so absent minded when it comes to those, or one day he'll end up having his fingers freeze off with frostbite. And wouldn't that be an absolutely stupid thing to let happen. Doctor Adam Milligan, the one who tells everyone how to take care of themselves and scolds everyone for their bad habits toward their health, doing something like that. Seriously, Adam thinks shoving his hands into his coat pockets to keep them warm, he must be getting old.

Warmth suddenly wraps around him, and when he looks at Michael, pressed against his side, the archangel's eyes glint mischievously. “And you call _me_ an old man.”

“Shut up.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket to smack Michael's clothed chest, but Michael catches it there, entwining their fingers. And really, Michael is a damn _sap_.

That's okay, though, because as much as he grumbles about it, Adam is a sap too.

And together they walk back home in the snow.

 

~fin~


End file.
